


Art of Dying

by Rhi



Category: Frank Herbert's Children of Dune (2003)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-17
Updated: 2009-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhi/pseuds/Rhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the Golden Path is incomprehensible.</p><p>Warning: vaguely referred to and vaguely canonical incest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art of Dying

**Author's Note:**

> Written for researchminion, Yuletide 2005.
> 
> Thanks to Duce, who did a Very Quick Characterisation Beta for me, mspeel4077, and to dixon. And to George Harrison for the song (introduced to me by Angus), natch.
> 
> The story was predominantly written from the novel source, as I left my copy of the mini at home in Wisconsin--and, for that matter, I didn't have time to schlep through three hours worth of miniseries (the amount that Leto and Ghanima appear in as young adults). So, on that account, things are written using the Herbert canon and adapting for the changes that are made in the mini. Ghani has a bit more power in the novel, and frankly, she should have had more in the miniseries--hence what I wrote. I think it's enjoyable no matter which canon you know, so take a read, leave a comment.

Children of the Fremen did not sleep heavily. This came from untold generations of a life lived on the barest knifeedge of survival, a survival made possible by technology and kept honed by the power that was Dune itself. A survival that for most Fremen was no longer necessary thanks to the work of Liet-Kynes.

But for Ghanima Atreides, the child of both Dune and Caladan, sleeping heavily had never been an option, not since the day she was born-no, before that, for as long as her pre-born memories stretched into the past. A life on the edge of nature was paired with a life on the edge of society. Ghani was of the belief that for all their disparaging comments about the Fremen, the Houses themselves were far more wild. Certainly more brutal in nature...and less logical.

It wasn't as if she had planned on sleeping this night anyhow. Too much had happened to stir her mind and all the minds that lived inside her own. She remembered everything. She remembered it in the burned out eyes of the Preacher, in the voice of Alia the Abomination, in the sight of her brother Leto alive and merged with the sandtrout. A memory all her own, of blood {water} and sand on the floor of the court.

There had always been people who wanted Ghanima dead, and if she thought about it past her own instincts, with careful Bene Gesserit techniques, she knew that they were probably right according to their own visions, their own paths. No condemnation lived in her heart.

The Golden Path, however, depended on her life being maintained as such: the Atreides line must continue, just as the spice must flow. The union of herself and Farad'n Corrino would be the source of the first. The union of her brother and Arrakis would be the source of the second.

Both of those marriages would be likely to get her killed, or at the very least cause more attempts on her life. There were those who did not wish for an Atreides-Corrino alliance, and there were those who did not want that alliance to have control over the melange. Thus, it behooved Ghani to continue to be cautious, even if things were better {worse} tonight then they had been before.

She rose slowly, mind reeling, kicking herself with anger. What was 'before' but a rosy false picture of past reality? Her ancestors urged calm, a relaxing of the frustrations within her, but Ghani was, despite this, only a teenager. And though she would never give it away through actions or expression, she was disturbed by her lack of confidence now.

Farad'n slept on, for her movements were slight and subtle, and though he too was warrior and Bene Gesserit-trained, he was no match for her. Ghanima slipped out into the corridors, checking for obstacles without conscious thought, before padding silently away from her room.

Leto found her in an antechamber, reclining on a couch and reading a book-an actual, physical tome--and looking for all the world as if she belonged there at that hour, on what amounted to her wedding night. He was probably the only being in the entire universe, save perhaps their grandmother, who would not accept this at face value.

"Vous ne devriez pas etre ici, maintenant." His voice was calm. The ancestral memory echoed the ancient tongue in her brain, translating it. {You should not be here now.} Then Leto continued, sounding more amused. "Mais vous savez cela." {But you know that.}

She looked up only for a second, shrugged, and then returned to her book. If he was going to play games by speaking as they had while children... "Mon devoir est accompli, frere. Est-ce que votre est?" {My duty is completed, brother. Is yours?}

Only he could detect the slightly bitter irony, and he perched on the arm of the couch, watching her. "Neither of us are ever completed in our duties, sister," he said, switching to Chakobsa. "The threats never leave us."

Closing the book, she set it aside and looked up at him. "Leto, I fear the rules have changed."

"They're always changing." He cocked his head slightly, blue eyes never leaving her face.

"Of course. You've felt it too, though?"

"Once you wouldn't have had to ask."

Ghani frowned almost imperceptibly. "That was before we had to achieve the impossible. That was before you died. Before you returned, changed." Her voice put a brief twist on the last word, turning it poetic.

"Ghani..." Leto's voice is quiet. "We are the impossible."

"If only I could be so sure!" She sat up further, closer to him, eyes darkening with emotion. "You see the Golden Path and I do not. I accept what you see because I trust you, even when I don't trust myself."

He looked confused at her last statement. Then his face lightened in understanding. "You mean with the tigers, lying to yourself. You agreed to the plan. Ghani, it was necessary."

"Will whatever the Harkonnens attempt be necessary? You should at least tell Stilgar they're coming."

Leto had almost no expression at all in his tone. "The Harkonnens will fail. You know as well as I that pain, death, change--each is part of all things."

Ghanima leaned forward. "You're sage, Leto Atreides." She imagined that she could see the subtle changes in his skin; perhaps they were already there. Reaching out, she touched his wrist, noting that yes, the texture was different. It almost made her want to weep. "But why do we receive such in more than full measure, my brother?" Meeting his eyes, she told him everything that she didn't say, just by expression. {Why must you change, why must this go on, why do you have to be the one who rules, why can't I help you?}

He shook his head. "I don't have an answer for that." And his eyes told her the same.

Nodding slowly, she rose, fingers still reading the strange, erratic pulse through his skin. "Then we will let it come." A question, a statement-it didn't matter.

"Very little of this has to do with our choice." He frowned, looking at her. She wasn't moving, only watching him strangely, in a way that he was too afraid to read. "Ghani."

"Then we take what we are allowed to have, my husband brother," she said, before kissing him on the lips. It was just for a moment, but slow and deep, her fingers still against his wrist. And he found himself responding, the part of him that was still human reacting and returning the motion, before she pulled away and headed towards the door. In a manner so classic it resonated with thousands of memories within, he watched her turn and speak before leaving, face calm and careful. "And I, as a true daughter of the Imperium, will have my moments of acquisition."

She was gone before he was able to laugh, laugh with just a touch of pleasure to it. It had been far too long since he had last done so.

Pain, yes, change, yes. And eventually death for them all. But the Golden Path would certainly not lack in other complications.

Somewhere down the hall, a similar thought struck Ghanima Atreides. "La variete est l'epice de la vie," she muttered, cocking her head just as her brother had, moments before.

Carefully, she proceeded down the corridor into the darkness.


End file.
